


Danse Macabre

by jakalboy



Series: Drajon AU [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Classism, Death Magic, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, hangovers, jon freaking out over having an Emotion, jon's mom being very protective, just a man and a dragon in love, minor OC appearance, reference to minor character deaths, she's nice really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 08:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakalboy/pseuds/jakalboy
Summary: Jon announces a trip, Martin scrambles to prepare, and everyone goes Dancing.(Very Large Timeskip From Previous 2 Entries)





	Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest thing I've ever written just take it

“Be prepared to travel in a month,” Jon announced out of the blue. “We’ll be away from town for about a week, so pack and prepare accordingly. And bring a nice pair of clothes.”

Martin blinked. Jon in human form was rare enough these days, but an announcement like this?

“Where are we going, boss?” Tim asked, resting his book open on his chest and ignoring Jon’s scowl. “Finding some sort of rare book? Collecting information from a crazed mage?”

“No, though I won’t complain if it happens,” Jon said stiffly. 

“Gonna tell us what it is, then?”

Jon frowned and tilted his head, before sighing and crossing his arms. “It’d be no use. You either know or you don’t.”

Sasha cut off what was obviously going to be a justifiably irritated response. “Jon, I don’t think any of us have nice clothes. I usually wear my nicest to work.”

“...those are supposed to be nice? What-” Jon shook his head. “Never mind. Remind me to give you all some spare gold pieces for some good dancing clothes.”

“We’re going dancing?” Martin squeaked.

“Yes.”

“I… I don’t know how to dance…”

Jon regarded him curiously for a moment, before turning on his heel. “Of course you do.” And with that he quickly walked (fled) from the room.

Tim’s irritation seemed to be forgotten in the face of the new revelation. “Jon’s taking us all to a dance? A  _ fancy _ dance?” He leapt to his feet, tossing the book to the side. He mimed a bow to Sasha. “Hello, your noble-ness, may I have this dance?” 

She laughed and curtsied. “I would be  _ honored, _ sir Tim.”

Martin tuned out their antics. Jon traveling without being forced? Jon  _ dancing? _

...with who?

He pretended to flip through Tim’s forgotten book as he tried not to flip out. He really didn’t know how to dance. He was always too busy to dance at the festivals, and his mother had never taught him or let him go when he was a child… he was going to embarrass himself at whatever fancy party this was going to be. Maybe there were some books on dancing, here? No, Jon didn’t seem the type… maybe obscure magic ritual dances, or cursed fae dances, but nothing to perform at a  _ party. _

Martin. Going to a party.

Martin jerked when Jon’s draconic head suddenly peaked over the top of his book. “Ow-” A small drop of blood welled on the pad of his finger. “Jon, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

It didn’t look like Jon was paying much attention, though. As usual. Jon grabbed Martin’s hand in his talons and examined Martin’s fingertip. He squeezed, and watched the drop swell. Martin watched, somewhat irritated, but, well. Jon was obviously thinking deeply about  _ something, _ with his tail twitching like that. He was just about to say something when Jon flapped his wings and glided off the table into the next room. Martin sighed and stuck his finger in his mouth, going back to flipping pages. He actually looked at them this time- fairy tales. Looked like this one was about some kid named Ainsel. He scanned the words, uninterested but bored and stressed enough to do it anyway.

The sound of wings flapping announced Jon’s unexpected return, and he landed gracefully on his hind legs, with his front talons clutching… a roll of bandages, which Jon immediately began unspooling.

“Jon, what are you-”

Jon held a wing out to silence him and waved his claw. Martin bent close, but Jon batted him with one of his wings and beckoned again. Maybe… Martin hesitantly offered his hand and Jon grabbed his cut finger. He started to thoroughly and methodically wrap the papercut with a truly excessive amount of gauze. 

“Jon, what are you doing?” It was comical, the white orb that slowly manifested around Martin’s finger. “Jon, that’s- that’s enough!” He finally had to tug his fingers out of Jon’s grip, and was grateful that Jon let him- he wouldn’t want to see what Jon would do to  _ actual _ wounds if he got this worked up over a papercut. 

Jon huffed and sliced the cloth neatly with a talon, tucking it tenderly around the mass of bandages.

Martin sighed and stroked Jon’s head. “Thank you, but I’m fine, Jon. I promise.” Jon lifted his chin for Martin to scratch. “If only you took that good care of yourself…” It was with exasperated fondness that he let Jon settle down on the book he had been trying to read and resigned himself to having one sided conversations with a dragon for the rest of the afternoon.

Well, it was better than reading that book, anyway.

* * *

Martin came back to work the next day with a pocket full of more gold coins than he’d ever held in his entire life. He’d nearly fainted when he saw Jon handing them out like they were handfuls of- of dust, or dirt. He’d barely batted an eye when Tim had asked, with a smarmy smile, for maybe a few more, boss? He’d just placed another handful in Tim’s bag. Even Tim had been stunned to silence.

Martin got the feeling Jon didn’t exactly understand the value of gold. 

Jon opened a lazy eye when Martin approached. He was curled up in the sunlight in the front of the library, apparently taking a morning nap, and Martin couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the dazzling ruby of Jon’s scales and the subtle patterns that rippled across his hide. “Jon, I don’t mean to interrupt…”

Jon huffed and slowly stretched, pulled himself into a sitting position. He waved a claw, as if to say,  _ go on, I’m awake anyway. _

“I, ah, I know we were supposed to get some good clothes yesterday, but…” He took a breath, fighting through the embarrassment pushing up his throat. “I, um. I didn’t really… know what to do? Or where to start?”

Jon finally opened all his eyes and looked Martin up and down, carefully considering and analyzing. Judgemental.

“I… nevermind, Jon, I’ll take care of it myself-”

In the blink of an eye, and a faint shimmer in the air, Jon was standing in full human form before him. He looked a bit more put together than usual, almost like Elias was coming by- rubies and garnets shimmering around his wrists and on his ears, rich fabrics shining in the light in deep reds and blacks. “No, that won’t do. You came to me for assistance.”

“Y-yes?” Jon looked… nice. As usual. Very nice.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Yes. So, I think we’ll be going out today. I’m not in the habit of clothes shopping, but I’m sure I’ll be of some use, at least. Better than you being on your own.”

“...thank you,” Martin mumbled. “Wait, now?”

“Yes, now.” Jon, head high, strode out the door, leaving Martin to scurry after.

* * *

Jon obviously did not know what he was doing either.

He and the tailor were having a steely stand off as she took Martin’s measurements. The poor woman looked like she wanted nothing more than to throw Jon out on his ass, and Martin had no doubt the only thing holding her back was the absurd amount of gold in Martin’s pockets and the sparkling jewels (there were definitely more now) that decorated Jon’s skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, breaking the silence. “It- you surprised me.”

The woman threw him a truly withering glare, and Jon flinched. “I’m so sorry about him,” Martin whispered weakly. “He didn’t mean to insult you.”

The old woman didn’t deign that with a reply and kept haughtily measuring him. Martin suspected they’d be upcharged significantly. And, well, Martin couldn’t  _ blame _ her. First, Jon came in questioning her skill because she wasn’t able to magically summon perfect sumptuous garments at will and had to make them herself and that meant that they would have  _ flaws. _ And that was bad enough. Terrible, actually, and Martin had felt like dying in that moment. But then it got  _ worse, somehow, _ when Martin had made conversation, brought up how long she had been tailoring, and.

Well.

Jon had been very vocally surprised at how “old she looked for her age”. As if sixty-five years old wasn’t enough to look old and everything had spiralled further down as Jon had stubbornly refused to self-correct.

Jon opened his mouth again, but slowly shut it when  _ Martin _ glared at him. Martin would burn himself alive if this got any more embarrassing and humiliating than it already was. Jon reluctantly busied himself pretending not to be sneaking looks in the various mirrors around the shop and subtly adjusting his outfit or hair. 

“What sort of suit will you be wanting?” The woman asked, clipped.

“Oh, ah,” Martin responded quickly. “I don’t know if it should be a suit? I’ve never done this before, but.. It’s supposed to be nice, and I need to be able to dance in it.”

“What sort of dance?” 

“I-”

“A special one,” Jon interrupted. “It must be memorable. This is a… once in a lifetime experience.”

The woman clutched her pen tighter. “Thank you for being so specific.”

“Maybe blue?” Martin suggested.  _ Please, no more arguing. _ “I like blue, I think maybe it would look nice on me?”

Jon and the tailor eyed him over, and Jon’s eyebrows slowly drew together. “Yes, I think you’re right. It would suit you. Very nicely.”

“I’ll see what I have,” the woman said. “No promises.”

“I can fund whatever fabrics you’ll need.”

“My fabrics are just fine.”

“Funny, that’s not what you were just-”

“Thank you, ma’am!” Martin said loudly, and Jon seemed to take the hint. He leaned back against the wall. “That sounds wonderful! I’m sure whatever you make will be  _ great.” _ He held out his hand, and the woman reluctantly shook it. “I’m really looking forward to it, I’ve never had an outfit like this before, so…” 

The woman sighed. “Alright. I have more customers coming in soon, so don’t loiter. It’ll be done in three weeks, approximately.”

“Thank you!” Martin gave her his most winning smile before grabbing Jon’s arm and dragging him out of the shop. He pulled them to the side and looked around before clenching his fists. “Jon! What was  _ that?!” _

“I’m sorry, Martin!” Jon huffed. “I just forgot, that’s all!”

“Forgot what? How to be polite?”

“No! Well, yes,” he admitted. “But, I forgot how… short your lives are.”

Oh. Wait. “Wait. Jon, how old even are you?”

“Five hundred and thirty seven. Fairly young.” He grimaced.

_ “Young.” _

“Yes. An adult, but only just out the gate.” Jon glanced over at Martin, and then back to the side.

“You’re a lot older than I thought.” It was hard to comprehend the scale of time Jon had lived through while still being… young.

“You’re likely younger than I thought. We’re… roughly equivalent right now…”

“Thirty.”

“What?”

“I’m thirty years old,” Martin said. “How close were you?”

“I was off by about twenty five years?” His brows drew closer, with the result being him looking very worried about a rock beside them.

Martin laughed. “What? No! I’m nowhere close to fifty. I’m still young too.”

Jon cracked a halfhearted smile. “Well. Good to know.”

“Yeah.” Martin held our his arm. “I’m still mad at you for being such a prick to the tailor, though.”

“Fair enough,” Jon sighed, and his fingers gently curled around Martin’s arm.

* * *

“Martin, what in the world are you doing?”

Martin froze, incredibly aware of the strange position he was in. “...dancing?”

_ “That,” _ Jon growled, “is  _ not _ dancing.  _ That _ is flailing about like a madman. You’re going to knock something over.”

“Isn’t dancing kind of just flailing about?” Martin mumbled. He stuck his hands firmly in his pockets.

Jon paused, and his expression changed ever so subtly. Martin had been noticing those more and more lately. He pressed his lips together, and the furrow in his brow deepened, but his eyes were just a bit more melancholy than irritated. “Only in its most primitive form. You were really never taught how to dance?”

Martin flushed and shook his head, shame curling in his stomach.

A light touch on his shoulder drew him out of his thoughts before he could drown himself in them, and Jon was there, looking embarrassed at his own boldness and avoiding Martin’s gaze. “If… it’s any consolation, you won’t have to know.”

Oh. Jon didn’t want  _ him _ dancing, then. “So I’ll just be on guard duty?” He snipped.

Jon’s lips tightened. “ _ No, _ Martin. Don’t be obtuse.” He took a step back and crossed his arms. “Everyone will be dancing.”

“But I don’t know how to dance!” His hands curled into fists. What didn’t Jon understand? There was no way he was going to some high class celebration to make a fool of himself, whatever Jon wanted him to do.

“Most people there won’t, I’d guess, nowadays,” Jon huffed. His eyes darted up to Martin’s for a moment, then back down. “I… could teach you one though. If. If you’d like.” He took a bashful step backwards and extended his hand. 

Whatever Martin was about to say- snap at him, maybe, throw the offer back in his face, but the image- Jon’s cheeks darkened, his hesitant glance, the hand outstretched for  _ Martin… _

His mouth went dry, and he reached out to take it. “I suppose,” He said. “I might step on your toes.”

Jon’s fingers closed around his palm, and he stepped forward. “Normally, I’d lead to teach you, but…” He eyed Martin up and down. “I think you’re a bit tall for that. I’d destroy the spin. And I don’t want to drop you. You’re a bit, ah,” his gaze trailed over Martin’s arms. “Stronger than me.”

A waltz, then? “So, I would…” He swallowed. “Put my hand on your hip.”

“Yes.” Jon rested his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Just do it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Martin swallowed. “Yes. Of course.” Why would it? He reached down and hesitated only a moment before placing his hand on Jon’s bony hip. He really was small, even in human form. And warm- he could feel it soaking through the silks wrapped around Jon’s waist.

Jon nodded decisively. “We won’t start with anything difficult- just a box step.” 

Jon’s instructions were brief and exact. The steps didn’t end up as difficult as Martin had imagined them being- it was a rather simple three steps, and then a mirror of it. There was a gentle rocking motion that came along with it- an up and down that, somehow, left Martin lightheaded as they danced around the room. Despite Martin technically “leading”, it was Jon who controlled them, pulled Martin in the correct directions, queued him on when to spin. Jon shouldn’t have looked so nice in the twirl, his red silks flaring around him like fire, the loose strands of hair draping around his face. And despite Martin stepping on Jon’s toes quite frequently, Jon strangely didn’t seem all that irritated. His grip on Martin’s hand stayed tender, and there was something delicate in his eyes as he looked up at Martin. 

Martin lifted their hands to twirl Jon again, off queue this time, and instead of returning his hand to Jon’s waist, he laid his hand on the middle of Jon’s back and impulsively dipped him low.

Jon’s dark eyes were wide, mouth slightly parted as he looked up at Martin. He clutched Martin’s shoulder like a lifeline. And Martin couldn’t look away. Jon licked his lips.

The door slammed open.

“Hey, Jon-” Sasha called loudly, and Martin startled, and  _ Martin dropped Jon. _

Jon cried out in surprise as he unceremoniously hit the floor.  _ “Martin!” _

“Oh no, Jon, I am  _ so _ sorry-” Martin quickly pulled Jon to his feet and began dusting him off. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head? Oh gods Jon I am so, so sorry-”

Jon pulled away with a dragonlike hiss. “It’s  _ fine, _ Martin.” He pulled his hand out of Martin’s tight grip and stalked towards Sasha, who took a rather startled step back. “What did you want?”

“I’m sorry I interrupted, Jon, it’s just some research I got finished with-”

“I said it’s  _ fine. _ I’ll take those.”

Sasha handed them over. “No need to be rude about it.”

Rather than respond, Jon assumed his true form in a shimmer of magic and stalked off.

Sasha patted Martin’s arm. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Martin sighed. “It’s alright.”

* * *

  
  


Jon was avoiding him.

“I think he’s mad at me,” Martin complained at Tim and Sasha one night.

“He’s mad at everyone,” Tim reassured him. “All the time.”

Sasha nodded in agreement as she brought another round of beer to the table. “He’s probably just going through one of his phases. You know how he can get.”

“Besides,” Tim added, “I think you’d know if he was  _ actually _ mad at you.” He shuddered. “Mean little bugger. He’s not really the avoidant type, you know?”

“More of the type to bully you into avoiding him.”

“Not that it works on Elias.”

“I guess,” Martin mumbled. “I just wish he’d tell me what’s wrong. Is it because I dropped him?”

“He should be mad at me, then! He’ll come around, Martin, don’t worry,” Sasha said. “Besides, you’re pretty much the only one of us he regularly talks to for fun, I think it would take a lot to push him away at this point.”

Martin sighed and downed his beer, ignoring Tim and Sasha’s concerned looks. Fucking dragons.

* * *

Martin’s head was pounding as he went to the archive the next day for work, and for once was glad for the dim lighting stretched thin across the library rooms and the distinct lack of visitors. It usually felt creepy and kind of lonely, but today it was a bastion of relief. He picked his way over to his favorite table and was about to flop into his cushioned chair when something gleamed on it.

Martin stopped himself halfway and barely managed to avoid falling on his ass. Instead, he raised himself back up and grabbed the garments draped over it.

The first was a white silk shirt, somewhat generic, but it was the softest thing he’d ever felt. It was almost iridescent in the uneven light. The next was a vest of sorts- it was a pale, icy blue, and seemed to be meant to be laced up the front middle. It had a graceful look to it, and as Martin held it up, faint fleur-de-lis patterns shimmered on the fabric. It had a slight collar that would rise up his neck, and flared out slightly at the hips. There was a pair of somewhat puffy trousers that were so dark they were almost black, and a long overcoat that was deceptively lightweight. It was a deep blue, and the sleeves, hem, collar, and edges were lined with intricate patterns of gold thread- when he looked close at them, they looked almost like an interweaving of eyes and skulls.

Martin felt slightly faint just looking at them. They were exactly his size. Someone must have picked it up from the tailor. He folded the garments delicately on the table and flopped onto his chair.

There was no way he could wear that. Going from- whatever the fuck he was wearing, he certainly didn’t put any thought into it and he certainly had nothing close to this nice- to these clothes that were obviously made for some kind of fucking prince was… too much.

He didn’t lift his head from his hands as the soft click-clack of talons echoed through the room and grew steadily louder. The sounds paused for a moment, and then continued as if trying to muffle themselves.

“I know you’re there, Jon,” Martin mumbled. 

The clacks turned to footsteps, and Jon took a seat beside him. “Martin.”

There was silence for a few minutes before Jon cleared his throat and spoke again. “Do… you like it…?”

“It’s beautiful, Jon.” He couldn’t keep his exhaustion from his voice.

“I’ll make sure to inform our tailor.” Another moment of silence. “Are you… alright?”

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, Jon.”

“I do, actually. I forgot something.”

“Then just get it, alright?”

“No, I forgot to add something to the outfit. It’s for you.”

Martin glanced up and noticed Jon’s hands cupped tightly together. Jon looked immensely uncomfortable, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be too sympathetic at the moment through the pounding of his head and just…  _ this. _ Jon held out and opened his hands.

Inside were two small golden cuff links. Both were in the delicate shape of a dragonlike eye, with a brown gemstone set in the middle.

“They’re tiger’s eye,” Jon said, as if that really meant anything to Martin. “They’re for the dance. For you.”

“What am I, special?” Martin rested his arms and head on the table, pointedly not accepting the gifts. 

“...Sasha and Tim are getting them too?” Jon stretched his hand out further, like Martin may have just forgotten to take them.

Martin wasn’t sure whether that was better or worse. “Thanks, Jon. But, I just, I can’t.”

Jon frowned and tilted his head to the side. “You can’t what, Martin? I’m not a mind reader.”

“I can’t do, this!” He sat up and gestured widely at the clothes and Jon. “I can’t wear these! I’m not sure I even want to! And, you avoid me for days! Ignoring me and you’re not even telling me what’s wrong! And then you suddenly pick these up for me and give me even more treasure. Jon, I’m not a mind reader either, you have to  _ talk _ to me. I can’t fix what I did wrong if you don’t tell me.”

Jon blinked, mouth slightly agape at the sudden outburst and obviously at a loss. “I… what? You didn’t do anything, why would you think that?”

“Maybe you suddenly pretending I don’t exist?”

He looked away, and from the shifting of his feet, Martin knew he wanted to run. “I…”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t realize you’d think that…” Jon clasped his hands together. “I… no. I didn’t think about it. That.. wasn’t my intention.” His voice was strained, and his shoulders hunched. “It wasn’t… about you.”

Martin looked over him carefully. Jon was a horrible liar, now and always. He was lying when he said it wasn’t about Martin.

But strangely enough, the first part was true.

“Then what was it about?” Martin asked.

“I was… overwhelmed,” Jon said, obviously choosing his words carefully. It would be endearing if he weren’t obviously hiding something from Martin. “I’m not used to a lot of… contact as a human,” that was true, “and you surprised me. I’ve been needing some, some space.” Somewhat true. Martin watched him close. “My intention wasn’t to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Martin sighed. “Just… don’t do it again, okay? Tell me next time?”

Jon nodded stiffly. “I promise.”

Martin let himself relax. His head still hurt like hell, but that was some weight off his shoulders. “Thanks, Jon.”

Jon patted his shoulder twice. “You should try it on.”

“I  _ really _ don’t think it suits me, Jon. I’ve never even been near something like this before.”

“Anyone could wear something like this, no matter their level of experience. Especially you. You are who it was made for, after all.” Jon glanced at him.

“I doubt it.”

“Just try it on,” Jon insisted. “It’s polite, isn’t it?”

Martin cringed. The tailor did put a lot of work into it, even with how rude Jon had been. “I suppose so,” he said reluctantly. “Should I just go into the other room?”

Jon nodded. “It should be easy enough to put on.” He paused, and then continued, slightly quieter, “And I could help if you end up needing it.”

Martin swallowed. “Okay.”

* * *

Martin looked himself up and down in one of the mirrors Jon had hidden around the library. The clothes’ fit was perfect, soft and comfortable, allowing perfect movement. There wasn’t a wrinkle out of place. It was like a second skin. Martin frowned at his reflection.

He didn’t look like himself. The man in the mirror was… refined. Princely. Maybe he looked exhausted, and his hair was a mess, but this man was a prince. A noble, who attended balls and knew all the right forks to use at dinners and had never worked a day in his life, and complained about all the paperwork he had to do and how the peasants expected him to solve all their problems and about all the homeless old men and children cluttering up the carriage roads. He didn’t look anything like Martin Blackwood, the farmboy who had worked himself to the bone every day he could, who worked himself beyond when his mother fell ill, who begged the bankers for just two or three gold to patch up their barn, he’d do anything. Martin the liar who claimed to be a warrior when he could barely hold a sword and manipulated and schemed to get by another day.

He wasn’t sure which one he hated being more. 

“Martin?” Jon called softly. “Can I come in?”

Martin opened his mouth to respond, but no response came out.

Jon seemed to take this as an invitation anyway, of course he would, and slipped in. He slowed as he approached Martin and stood just to his side, looking at Martin’s reflection. Jon smiled like a cat who got the cream. “It’s perfect on you, Martin. You look wonderful.”

Martin nodded mutely. For once he actually looked like he belonged by Jon’s side, like he matched the shining silks and sparkling jewels that Jon loved. No wonder Jon liked the Martin in the mirror. Liked him better than he liked the drab Martin.

Jon’s brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. “What do you think?”

“It’s… great. It’s really, really great.”

His face softened, a hint of a smile tugging back at his lips, though his eyes looked towards the real Martin’s face. “Good. No one will be able to take their eyes off you.”

“Yeah. Great.”

“I really mean it, Martin. It suits you.”

“Does it, Jon? Does it really?” Martin couldn’t take his eyes off his reflection. Someone so special wouldn’t look so empty, would they? He could practically see the clothes sloughing off him like a shed skin. Another lie to put on the pile.

“Yes,” Jon said simply. “It brings out a new side to you. You look more yourself, I think.”

That tore Martin’s eyes away from the mirror. “What?”

“...you know, my favorite human legends have always been about heroes. Peasant heroes, particularly,” Jon said. “About the hidden gems among humanity. It’s always their skill and goodness which set them apart, which give them the support of the humans around them. They’re clever, brave, just, kind. They put others above themselves. They’re noble in a way that cannot be achieved through birth and blood.” Jon looked back at Martin’s reflection. “It’s the one who is worthy who is king, not the king who is worthy. You would make a good folk king.”

Martin licked his lips. “What if I don’t want to be?”

“Then you don’t have to be. But for one night, I’d… I’d like everyone to be able to see in you what I see.” Something possessive and proud flashed through Jon’s eyes, and Martin couldn’t keep himself from flushing. “Even if it has to be through something as superficial as your clothing.”

Martin swallowed. “Even though I lied to you? About being able to use a sword, and who I was? About… about everything?”

“Martin,” Jon said softly. “You know I don’t care about that. We’ve talked about this.” A smile ghosted over his lips. “I didn’t choose you for those things anyway. I chose you because of your potential, Martin. Well, your potential, and your courage in the face of spiders.”

Despite the pounding in his head and the deep insecurity settled in his chest, Martin couldn’t choke back a laugh, and Jon couldn’t help but grin.

* * *

The next days felt like the hours after a good cry. Though the fineries still caused anxiety to bloom in Martin’s stomach, something had been lifted off his shoulders, and the brief glimpses of Jon didn’t plague him as much as it had before. So when Jon slid tiredly into the seat across from him, Martin didn’t look up with worry or panic or bitterness, but a soft smile. “Last minute preparations keeping you busy?”

“You have no idea,” Jon replied, resting his elbows on the table and slumping down. He heaved a heavy sigh.

“You have to make sure to rest, Jon,” Martin scolded. “Shouldn’t you be resting now, actually?”

“I am resting.”

“No you’re not, you’re sitting here talking to me. You look exhausted, Jon.”

Jon glared with bleary eyes. “What if I  _ want  _ to be with you right now?”

“Then you don’t have to be human to do it,” Martin said. He couldn’t help a dopey smile. Jon genuinely wanted his company. “I like your other form too.”

“But I can’t talk to you like that,” Jon said, fingering the gold pendant lying against his collar. “It would be a one-sided conversation.”

“Jon, I don’t mind. You’re as good a conversation either way,” he teased. “And we don’t even have to talk. You can sleep here, if you want.”

Jon ran a hand through his bangs. “You… really don’t mind?”

“Not a bit.”

Jon sighed, and nodded. In a brief shimmer of magic, Jon was curled on the table in his full draconic glory. He quietly walked across the table and crouched, looking up at Martin for permission. Martin gave it with a nod, and Jon leapt up onto Martin’s shoulders. His scales were comfortably warm, and he was obviously extra careful with his talons and spines as he curled around the back of Martin’s neck like a scarf. Martin reached up and stroked Jon’s snout. Fondness bloomed in his chest when Jon sighed, pressed his snout into Martin’s hand, and cuddled closer. 

* * *

In a few days’ time, they were on the road. It didn’t exactly bring back good memories, but Jon, Sasha, and Tim’s presence was steadying. Jon looked somewhat grumpy, as he had to be persuaded to substitute his usual gaudy attire for drab traveler’s clothes. Both a dragon and a man dressed in fineries would draw too much unwanted attention on the roads.

Martin sat in the back of the wagon with Jon and Sasha. Tim sat in front, guiding the horses as he whistled cheerfully.

“Gotta say, Jon,” Sasha said. “I thought we’d be heading for a palace, or something. Hilltop isn’t really that big of a town, is it?”

“It just doesn’t get a lot of traffic, usually,” Jon said. “But it’s big and has a good history. Perfect for the dance. Much better than any palace.”

“Okay, that’s just weird, Jon.”

“You’ll understand when it starts.”

Tim frowned and turned his head back. “Wait, boss. Is this  _ magic?” _

Jon at least had the good grace to look guilty. 

“Of course,” Tim sighed. “Of fucking course. And, when were you planning to tell us?”

“I can’t really tell you much at all, Tim,” Jon said. “It’s not something I can just speak about. I can remember it, and I can help you remember it, but I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” Martin asked.

“It’s taboo,” Jon explained. “It fades from mortal memory with ease, and none but a few can speak of it. If I tried to tell you, my lips would freeze and no sound would come from my throat. I can’t confirm or deny anything. All I can do is remember.”

“And the magic does this?”

Jon said nothing, raising an eyebrow at Martin. 

“Point taken,” He muttered. 

Another cart rolled by, filled with quietly talking humans. Many carts had passed, many carts were in front and many were behind them. The crowd in each was different, but most seemed to be peasants. Few were fancier, holding nobles and the rich in cushioned bellies. They all had an air of slight confusion to them, but their speech was hopeful. Some called out to them, waving cheerfully.

“Are they headed to Hilltop, too?” Martin asked.

“...they don’t know it,” Jon said carefully. “But yes. I promise, all of you, that this is not dangerous. This- this should be good. It’s safe.”

Tim glanced back at Sasha, who shrugged.

“...if you say so, Boss.”

They finally arrived in Hilltop after a few days’ travel. The town was full of life- fellow travelers coming in and out of inns, farmers and local artisans joyfully hocking their merchandise, and pale white flowers blooming all across the hill. The town rested on the peak, and all around was the beautiful view of the surrounding plains and farms. It was late afternoon, about three hours til nightfall, and Martin was about to lead the wagon and horses to one of the inns when Jon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

Jon pressed a few gold coins into Martin’s palm. “Go with Sasha and Tim, get yourselves something to eat. You’ll need the energy.”

“Okay. But, ah, what about you?”

“I’ll claim our room and some stablespace,” he said. “I’ve had arrangements made. Meet me at the Deadhead inn before nightfall, you’ll need to change into your dancing clothes.”

Tim slung an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “A break, eh Boss? I’m certainly not complaining. Come on, Martin!” He dragged Martin towards Sasha without a protest from Jon, who dismissed them with a distracted wave.

“There’s some great smells coming from the main road, looks like they’ve got quite the market set up,” said Sasha. “I think I’m in the mood for stew.”

“You’re always in the mood for stew,” Tim groaned. “Why don’t you mix it up a little?”

Martin let their bickering fade into pleasant background noise as he walked beside them. Without thinking, Martin bent down to pick three of the pale flowers, and tucked one behind his ear.

* * *

Martin took a deep breath and adjusted his suit and jacket in the mirror. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he did something wrong while putting it on. The white flower was tucked neatly into his chest pocket, and it was so pale it almost seemed to glow in the dim lighting. 

There was a light knock on the door. “Come in?” Martin called.

Jon stepped in and closed the door behind him. He looked breathtaking- similar to when they danced together. Strings of rubies and black pearls were braided through his hair, and a translucent crimson cloak lined with gold leaf was draped over his shoulders and flowed behind him like a cape. The gold pendant on his necklace was replaced with a small skull of flattened silver. His shirt was made of a shimmering silver satin, which matched the white-petaled flower tucked into his braid. Martin couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Jon reached up and adjusted Martin’s collar. His fingers brushed lightly over the skin of Martin’s neck, and he shivered.

Jon stepped back and looked Martin up and down, then nodded once. “Perfect.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He was sure his face was bright red. “You don’t look that bad yourself.”

“Of course I don’t,” Jon said, almost offended.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

Jon rolled crossed his arms with a huff, and Martin laughed. “How long until it starts?”

“About half an hour. That’s when the sun sets fully. Come on,” he said, holding his arm out. “We’ll meet up with Sasha and Tim, and find Georgie.”

Martin linked his arm with Jon’s. “W-wait, Georgie’s here? Like, your ex Georgie?”

“Please don’t make it weird,” Jon grumbled as they descended the steps. “Plus,  _ Melanie _ is here.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m just here as extra support. This is her first time being chosen, after all. And what sort of friend would I be if I didn’t come out to her ceremony to support her?”

Martin relaxed. “Oh…”

They walked through the hall in silence, and emerged into the Deadhead tavern’s main hall. All the folk inside were chattering excitedly in groups, dressed in what presumably were their best outfits. This seemed to vary from person to person, but citizens of various classes were talking to one another as they would someone of the same status, and Martin couldn’t sense even a hint of judgement in the room. Jon steered them towards a group of four.

Sasha was wearing a light dress in pale golds and yellows, with trimmings of purple on the sleeves, hem, and collar. She wore a flower crown of dandelions, with the white flower Martin had given her woven among them. Tim was at her side in an outfit that was, in Martin’s opinion, very fun looking. It was reminiscent of a classical bard’s, in emerald greens and a much deeper purple than the one edging Sasha’s dress. He had a green hunter’s hat perched on his head with a grand feather sticking out of it, and a flower beside it. In front of them was Melanie and Georgie. Melanie matched the crowd perfectly, with her hair tied back and with a gorgeous lavender-pink gown with red floral patterns climbing the skirt, and scarlet lace and a flower around her middle. Georgie was the only one who wasn’t wearing something eye catching and dressy- she wore a simple black cloak that hid most of her body, and had white face paint in a skull pattern which contrasted starkly with the dark brown of her skin. No flower could be seen on her.

Tim spotted them and grinned widely, waving them over. “There you are! Holding everyone up, eh? What were you two doing up there?”

Martin flushed, but Jon just sighed and released Martin’s arm. “Georgie, good to see you again.” He pulled her into a hug.

She smiled and squeezed him tight. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it! You’ve been avoiding me for too long, you ridiculous wyrm.”

“I haven’t been  _ avoiding _ you…”

“Don’t lie, you’re insulting both of us.”

“Good to see you too, Jon. I’m doing great, Jon, thanks for asking,” Melanie said, gesturing dramatically. 

Jon sighed testily. “Yes, hello, Melanie.”

“You didn’t tell us Georgie was going to be here,” Sasha said. “I would’ve brought her something! We never did get to thank you,” she added to Georgie. “I don’t know how we would’ve gotten that poltergeist out of the library without you.”

“Well, next time, have Jon make me his pumpkin bread. That’ll be thanks enough.”

“You never told us you can bake,” Tim laughed.

“I rarely do it anymore,” Jon said. “Anyway, Georgie, how are you feeling? Nervous?”

She laughed, a bit too high pitched. “How could I not be?”

Jon nodded. “This  _ is  _ a tradition eons of years old. All riding on your shoulders.”

“Stop teasing me,” Georgie scolded, shoving his shoulder. “It’s not funny right now.”

“What’s funny is you thinking you’re going to do anything but wonderfully,” Jon said pointedly. “I’ve seen plenty less qualified than you take up the mantle and manage to pull through. You’re going to be amazing.”

Georgie rolled her eyes, but smiled tightly. “Yeah. I- I know.”

“Good,” Melanie said, knocking her shoulder against Georgie’s. “Now come on, let’s stop wasting time standing about and get ready.”

“It is almost sundown, isn’t it?” Georgie sighed, and leaned down to pick up something Martin hadn’t noticed previously. It was a dark, long rectangular case coated with leather, and it had brass clasps keeping it closed. “... well, see you all in a few minutes.” She gave Jon a one-armed hug and was then promptly swept out of the room by Melanie.

Sasha sighed. “Shame Georgie’s not single.”

Jon startled. “Wait- she’s not?”

Tim sighed and shook his head. “Jon, Jon, you oblivious little man.”

“Is- is it Melanie?” Jon demanded.

Martin bit down a smile. “Yep. I’m pretty sure she and Melanie are together.”

Jon cringed. “Well, I need to brush up on my people skills a bit. But I just can’t believe Georgie has such poor taste.”

“Why?” Tim asked. “She dated you.”

Jon’s grumbling couldn’t be heard over Sasha and Martin’s laughter.

* * *

It was like the entire crowd was assembled in the field. It was so vast that everyone had enough space, but the pure multitude of people unknowingly assembled for this ceremony was astounding. Everyone had a white flower somewhere on their outfit, and it was hard to deny the faint light coming from the petals now. It made the scene ghostly, with the dying purple of the sky mixing with a silver glow. Jon smiled, excitement dancing in his eyes, as the crowd went silent. 

Georgie stood on a small stone platform in the middle of the field. Martin’s eyes were drawn to her, and he found his couldn’t look away, his limbs leaden. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Georgie raised a fiddle and bow to her chin.

She struck the first note the moment the sun disappeared. It was as if the remaining sunlight left with it, and complete darkness reigned before the glow of the flowers blazed with the light of the moon. Martin found himself stepping forward to link arms with Jon, as the rest of the crowd did so in exact time with their partners. His feet moved as if on their own, matching everyone around him down to the second, but that wasn’t true. He knew, suddenly- exactly what he had to do. How to Dance.

As they twirled together in a frenzy, Jon leaned forward to whisper to Martin breathlessly,  _ “Enjoy the Danse Macabre.” _

Martin laughed. He felt- light, a joyful light in his chest as his flower brightened and magic rippled from his every footstep. He released Jon and twirled dizzily into the arms of his next partner, a tall, austere woman in a magnificent dress and a true crown, heavy with gold and jewels. They danced together as if equal, knowledge on the tips of their tongues and anticipation in their hearts. He passed her on and spun a young boy in already dirtied clothes and mud on his nose, forgotten. The boy laughed as Martin lifted him through the air and into the arms of a translucent man with a thick beard and worker’s clothes. Martin could see the man’s bones as he leaned down to press a kiss to his son’s cheek. 

Martin was taken by a young woman in a sumptuous ball gown and her hair done up in the style of nobles. He stepped in time with her, undeterred by the skull grinning from under her skin. As the music swelled to a crescendo, more and more of the dead rose from the earth and knelt to gently choose their own glowing flowers and attach them to their breasts. Men, women, and neither, of all different walks of life integrated themselves into their welcome dance. With each step, the magic that summoned them grew in strength. Martin stepped faster, and faster, spinning and leaping between partner after partner, living and dead becoming more indistinguishable by the minute. He couldn’t remember whether he was alive or whether he was dead, and he found himself caring less with each note of the fiddle and each step of the dance. The waves of magic were like drumbeats as spectral musicians rose to accompany Death, their fiddler. The music screamed, and Martin couldn’t recover his breath but he danced anyway. He couldn’t stop- he was glad for the big meal Jon made them eat, and he just had to keep pushing, the welcome was almost over. He lifted his partner- he could barely see them, someone tall with long hair- up and threw them in the air, and the second he caught them, the music went quiet.

Death played a low trill on her fiddle, and Martin set his partner down and bowed deep as they did so in return. At the command of the music, they stepped back- one, two, three, four.

And Martin could control his own limbs again. He doubled over and gasped for breath. His limbs were cramped and aching, and his chest was on fire. Georgie started up a new song, but no magic commanded the dancers anymore. Those who could stand laughed and dispersed, some starting up their own dances, some choosing to rest, some simply wanting to talk. The dead seemed to be just as energetic as when they arrived, if not more so- magic thrummed through the ground in red tendrils, the same color which the tips of the flower petals had now turned. 

A hand settled on Martin’s back to steady him, and he looked up into the unmarred face of the late Jane Prentiss.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” the sorceress said, sitting on the ground beside Martin. “For trying to turn you into a hive. It wasn’t anything personal.”

“I don’t think I forgive you,” Martin said.

She sighed, looking very much like she wanted a pipe. “That’s fair.”

They sat in silence, watching the festivities of the night around them. Martin’s breath still came heavy, and his limbs trembled from strain. Jane looked at peace, gazing up at the stars. The light of her flower, tucked into the front pocket of her trousers, cast strange shadows on her face. 

“You’re looking pretty fancy,” she said. “Almost didn’t recognize you in those clothes.”

“Wish you hadn’t.”

She sighed. “Magic like this, tonight, is so rare, Martin. It’s rarely this gentle. Almost seems kind, doesn’t it?” She threw her head back in a full-bellied, cynical laugh. “I don’t get how people flock to it so… excitedly. Though I guess that’s the weakness of the magician and the magical. If you can evade death, why would you want to come meet it?”

“Everyone dies eventually. You definitely did.”

“I tried my best to escape it, though. I thought that if my body became a hive, I would never die. Not really- I’d always be kept just on the brink by the worms. Looking back on it, it was hell.” She glanced lazily over at Martin. “Human or not, we usually have some way we try to escape it. That’s why you won’t really see anyone outside of the circles of the Vast or End at these parties. Beholders can be curious enough to come, sometimes, but it’s rare.”

“So this place really is safe, then?” Martin didn’t take his eyes off her. He couldn’t help but fear the second he took his eyes off her, worms would come slithering from her eyes. 

“Yep. You can get comfortable. Even Fairchild over there won’t make a move under Death’s watch.” 

Martin glanced at the crowd, but couldn’t see who she was talking about. There was only an old man. “What even is this? I’ve never heard anything about it.”

“The Danse Macabre,” Jane said softly. “The Dance of Death. The End’s kindest and cruelest ritual. Everyone will die, Martin.” She suddenly flopped back, legs thrown in the air for a moment before they fell back down. She stretched her arms out in the grass. “And in death we’re all equal. Both horrible and tempting, isn’t it? Just like that.” She gestured to the frollickers. “The living get their loved ones dangled in front of them, but they’re also reunited for a night. And it’s the same the other way around, too. We get to be with our living friends and family, but only until the sun rises and the flowers go red. Temptation and relief.”

Martin finally tore his eyes away from her back to the crowd. He quickly found Jon there, talking to a rather stern looking man and woman. He couldn’t get a good look at them, but the man was decked in red and the woman in rich teals. 

“I guess you’re right,” He said. “I suppose that’s why my mother didn’t come to see me, isn’t it?”

“Your mother?”

“She-” Martin squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed them with his palms. “She was… I’m not sure she ever wanted me. Or loved me. She’s dead now- I checked, a few months ago. I managed to find my way back to my hometown only to find that she’d passed away long before I made it back. And the horrible thing was, that I was… relieved? Not that she was dead, but that.. I didn’t have to see her. And face… all that again. I loved her, but, that can only go so far, can’t it?”

“And why are you telling  _ me  _ all this?” Jane asked, amusement curling through her voice.

“Why’d  _ you  _ come to  _ me _ ?”

She hummed. “Touche.”

“I think, it might be because I care what you think of me the least. You’re the closest I’ve ever come to death, you know? I thought I would die, during your attack. I thought I was going to die alone and unloved and useless, without having changed a bit since I was a kid. And you didn’t even care. I was just the most convenient guard, wasn’t I? The weakest?”

Her eyes slid closed. “Yeah. I saw the way you fought, the way you walked… I thought you’d give in quick. Maybe I’d give you something greater to live for than some sorry excuse for a dragon.” She sighed. “I’m not the same person I used to be, before the Corruption called me.”

“You certainly don’t sound like you did in your diary.”

“You all read that, did you?” She opened an eye for a moment before closing it lazily once more. “Bunch of voyeurs, the lot of you.”

“We wanted all the information we could get,” Martin said, not feeling an ounce of regret. “But yeah. You seem different.”

“It leaves a mark,” She said simply in way of explanation. She sighed. “I think I might’ve used to be more like how you were. Lost. Scared. I think I learned helplessness, too. I don’t regret not being that person anymore. But I wish I’d left her behind more like you left yourself behind.”

Martin blinked. “Huh?”

“I wish I grew,” She said. “I wish I got stronger naturally. I wish I’d done something rather than wait for something, anything, to reach out and change myself for me. You’re different too, Martin. If I had attacked now, I don’t think I’d have chosen you.”

Martin swallowed. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” She slowly pulled herself to her feet. “I think I’m going to try and have some fun.”

“Yeah,” Martin said. “I think I will, too.”

* * *

Martin found himself caught up in a new dance, more of a folk dance, to the sound of Georgie’s fiddle when he was gently stolen from his current partner and into the arms of a middle aged woman. She was tall, and looked achingly familiar. She was dressed in richly colored, lustrous teal fabric with intricate gold geometric patterns detailed on, and a sort of veil flowing from the back of her head. It was like nothing Martin had seen before, but it was beautiful.

The woman smiled. “So, are you the Martin my son can’t stop speaking of?”

That was it! Her nose, her eyes, they all looked almost exactly like Jon’s. Her skin was a shade or so darker, but there was no doubt that this woman was Jon’s mother. “Y-yes- wait, he talks about me?”

She rolled her eyes. “It was hard to get him to stop. And he hasn’t courted you yet? I swear, that boy is useless. A bigger idiot than I was.”

Martin squeaked, cheeks flaming red. “I- he- does he  _ want _ to c-court me-?”

“You’re just as bad as him!” The woman cried. “You want him?”

“I- I-”

“It’s easy, yes or no.”

“Yes!”

“Good! And he wants you too?”

Martin whimpered. “I- I don’t know-”

“Don’t lie about this,” the woman snapped. “Does he want you?”

“I think so?!”

“You are right! So what’s stopping you?” Her gaze burned into him.

“Because- because-”

“Because?”

“I don’t think he’s ready yet!”

The woman paused. Then, a truly warm smile spread across her face. “My, Jon did pick a gem, didn’t he? Please forgive me just now. I had to see if you were worthy of my son’s love.”

Martin’s cheeks went scarlet. “...love?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “He really does love you. But my son is… well, he’s never been good at letting himself be happy. He may try to run away from you, or push you away.” She tapped Martin’s chest. “Please don’t let him.”

“I won’t, Mrs…” He frowned. “What’s your name?”

She snorted. “With humans, I go by Saanika. It’s nice to meet you, Martin.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Jon’s so much like me,” She sighed. “When I was younger, I was similarly scared of happiness. I had different reasons, but…” She looked over her shoulder where Jon was dancing with the man in red, presumably his father. “David didn’t abandon me. He stayed by my side. He was annoyingly persistent at times, but eventually, I accepted that love wasn’t a weakness. It wouldn’t make me more vulnerable, but with the right partner, I would be strengthened. I do not regret my partnership with David,” she said. “I just wish it had happened sooner. Maybe then we could’ve had more time with Jon.”

Martin looked down at his feet. That was right- Jon’s parents were dead. “I’m sorry, for pulling you away from him.”

“I came over of my own wishes,” Saanika said dismissively. “David would have been too soft to properly test you, and someone had to.”

“Well- thank you,” Martin said. “For taking the time to meet me.”

Saanika smiled. “Of course, Martin.” She smiled mischievously and leaned close into his ear. “Next time we meet in the Danse, you had better be married.” And she handed Martin, a mess, over to his next partner and swept away.

* * *

The night was a fantastical blur upon which the sun rose all too quickly. As the east horizon started to color, the dead’s merry mood faded as they began to say their goodbyes. 

Without a loved one of his own to dismiss, Martin stayed at Tim’s side. Martin had never seen Tim like this, but he couldn’t blame him. He kept a respectful distance and turned his head. This wasn’t his to see, but Tim would need someone, when this was over

Tim buried his face in Danny’s shoulder, squeezing tighter than any living boy would’ve been comfortable with as he trembled. “Don’t leave m-me yet,” Tim sobbed. “I’m not ready to say- to, to say- goodbye!”

Danny sniffled as he hugged Tim’s neck. “C-come on, you’re the big brother… aren’t you sup-supposed to be-” he hiccuped. “-be the strong one?”

“I’ll see you again,” Tim whispered hoarsely, “right? Next time, next time this happens, I c-can see you again?”

“Tim,” Danny said, voice shaking. “Don’t make that your wh-whole life, okay? I want, I- I want- I want you to l-live a happy life, okay?”

“You’re a dick,” Tim murmured into Danny’s shoulder. “I’ll try my b-best, okay? For you.”

“Thank you,” Danny said. “Thanks, Tim.” His ribcage was more apparent than his skin. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tim whispered.

As the sun crested over the hills, Danny faded with the fiddle music, and Tim broke down into tears.

* * *

Tim stayed in the room. They were all exhausted, but Tim needed privacy the most. So Sasha was waiting for breakfast to be ready inside, and Jon and Martin were sitting outside on the porch, watching the sunrise.

Their knees touched, and neither of them pulled away. Martin glanced at Jon from the corner of his eye- Jon looked completely drained, and his grief could be seen in the dullness of his eyes. He had definitely stayed in his human disguise much too long, Martin thought. It was probably incredibly uncomfortable by now.

Martin inched his hand closer to Jon’s until their fingers touched. Jon snapped back to alertness, loose hair hanging down messily in his face and around his shoulders. There was light in his eyes when he looked at Martin, and the lines around his eyes softened. 

“Did you like it?” Jon asked, voice scratchy.

Martin thought for a moment, and nodded. “I’ll forget it though, won’t I?”

Jon smirked. Even exhausted, he could still be so smug. Martin didn’t know how he did it. “Not you three. Those cuffs-” He tapped the eye-shaped cufflink on Martin’s sleeve “-will let you remember, if you wish. It’s a little enchantment I made myself.”

Martin laughed softly. “Thank you, Jon. Even if we can’t talk about it, I’m glad we’ll be able to remember.”

Jon’s fingers twitched, and he quickly looked away, cheeks faintly darkened. “I- of course.”

Martin swallowed. “Jon, I-”

In that moment, the door opened, and Melanie stepped through, footsteps strangely loud and unsettling against the calm morning. 

Jon stood up and brushed himself off. “How’s Georgie?”

“She’ll probably sleep all day and eat her weight in food when she wakes up, but she’ll be fine,” Melanie said. “Playing music and channeling magic all night… that’s brutal.”

“It is death magic,” Jon said, but Martin could see the worry in his eyes. “It usually takes a toll.”

“Glad to see you’re so concerned,” Melanie grumbled. “How long will you stay?”

“At least until she wakes up,” Jon promised. “Not a moment before.”

Melanie nodded and turned back to the door. “Good.”

Martin giggled. “How do you always manage to sound like- like that?”

“I always sound perfectly charming, thank you,” Jon said, practically collapsing back down on the steps. 

“Right.” Martin took a deep breath, and then slowly, carefully, interlaced their fingers.

Jon went still, and when Martin glanced over, he found Jon staring wide-eyed at their hands. Jon’s fingers twitched, but didn’t quite pull away.

“Is… is this okay?” Martin asked softly. Jon looked back up at him, into his eyes. Gods, Jon was so… for once, Martin hoped that every tender thought he was thinking showed in his eyes. Jon’s face tightened, but he didn’t look away.

“That’s… what I should be asking,” Jon said, almost too quietly to hear. “Do you… really know what you’re…”

“Yes.”

Jon swallowed. “I won’t be able to grow old with you. When you’re old, and withered, and balding, and losing your senses, I’ll still be young. I’ll.. I’ll look like I have barely aged.”

“I know.” He squeezed Jon’s hand.

“I won’t be able to die with you. When you pass on, I won’t be able to meet you there for who knows how long,” Jon said, voice rising with emotion. 

“I know,” Martin said simply.

“I- I might find another,” Jon said. “I might fall in love with someone else after you die, and with another, and another.”

“I don’t care.” Martin tenderly lifted Jon’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

“And, and-” Jon’s breaths came fast as he searched for more protests. “And I won’t always be able to be human with you! Sometimes, maybe most of the time, I’ll have to be a dragon! I won’t be able to do human things with you, or have a conversation in your language.”

“I know, Jon,” Martin said, smiling gently. “I fell in love with  _ all _ of you. Not just the part of you that disguises itself as human. I love every part of you.”

Any remaining protest died in Jon’s throat, and what came out of his mouth instead was a strange,half-choked sound. “...you really know what you’re asking.”

“I do, Jon.” He took Jon’s other hand and ran his thumbs over Jon’s knuckles. 

“You love me?”

Martin nodded. “I love you, Jon. And I hope you’ll let me.”

Jon pulled a hand out of Martin’s grip to dab at his eyes with his sleeve. “Damn you, Martin, I’m, I’m getting all- choked up. This is all your fault.” He took a shuddering breath. “This only happens in my human form, I swear-”

Martin laughed and pulled Jon into a hug. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course it is, Martin.” 

Jon wrapped his arms around Martin somewhat robotically. It was cute, Martin thought. He’d have to make sure Jon got lots more experience with hugs. But for now, he held his love close and rested his cheek against his head in the morning sun.

After a minute, Jon pulled away, much steadier. “Martin?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“There’s, ah, one more thing.” Jon smiled at him nervously. “I’m not really one for sex,” he said. “I hope that.. Won’t…”

“Change anything?” Martin said. “It doesn’t change a single thing. I love you, not your body.”

Relief shone in Jon’s eyes, but he still put on a huffy act. “Are you saying that I’m not attractive?”

Martin laughed, a full belly laugh. Jon dithered for a moment, but finally let out a stifled snicker. 

“I love you, too,” Jon said quietly, with the light resting gently on his face. “I… I love you.”

  
And finally, _finally,_ Martin leaned in and kissed him. 

**Author's Note:**

> https:// youtu.be/YyknBTm_YyM  
delete the spaces to get the link to the song that Georgie was playing and the inspo for this whole fic. Old folktales are cool and this was fuckin perfect


End file.
